


A Letter I Was Forced To Open

by michaelphelps



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Letters, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, World War II, brief mention of abuse, bucky gets drafted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 03:30:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19287217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaelphelps/pseuds/michaelphelps
Summary: The sun was hot for mid May. A cloudless sky seemed like the wrong setting for the conversation the two friends were having.orBucky gets a letter from the United States Military and realizes this next month in Brooklyn might be his last





	A Letter I Was Forced To Open

The sun was hot for mid May. A cloudless sky seemed like the wrong setting for the conversation the two friends were having.

Steve looked at the letter in his hands, reading and rereading the typed words as though they'd changed by the time he got to the bottom of the page. It was so impersonal for the content. The format was plain and boring on the official United States Military letterhead.

_ORDER TO REPORT FOR INDUCTION_

_The President of the United States,_

_TO ____James__Buchanan__Barnes_____

_Order No. __1579___

__**GRETTING:**  
Having submitted yourself to the local board composed of your determining your availability for training and service in the armed forces of the United States, you are hereby  
notified that you now have been selected for training and service in the ___Army___ 

_You will, therefore, report to local board above at ___-_

On and on and on about what he was required to do and when and where. It made Steve's stomach churn, want to burn the paper and pretend like it never happened. But that would land Bucky in jail, for a long time, and he couldn't stand himself if he let that happen.

The winter was long and hard this year, but Steve had tried to enlist, multiple times, under pseudonyms and fake addresses. He tried so hard to do something that actually mattered, give his life a little meaning. But Bucky was able bodied and strong. He was _capable_ and therefore required to register for the draft as a United States citizen, do his "duty for the country". He didn't want it, and Steve knew that. He had spoken against the war, and Steve fighting for it, many times. It was a useless argument because they both knew he'd never even be able to register, let alone enlist.

They sat in silence, on the stoop of the apartment building they unofficially lived together in. The letter, still heavy in Steve's hands, was the only thing that was keeping them from speaking their minds.

Bucky hadn't looked at him since he sat down but Steve knew not to take it personally. He was just fucking _drafted_. Into the fucking _war_. He wasn't a child but working at the docks for almost ten years doesn't prepare you to face death at its head. He's leaving, whether they like it or not.

Something Steve did notice was that Bucky had run over barefoot. His shirt and pants worn with work and time, his curls drooping over his forehead like they haven't in months, and no shoes. Bucky's feet rested on the bottom step, and Steve decided he'd concentrate on the flex and point, flex and point, of anxiety that Bucky couldn't exude elsewhere on his body. Too sick to do anything but move his fucking feet back and forth. Too numb to feel anything as he ran over rocks and dirt and wood chips to get to Steve. To tell Steve that he-

It didn't matter. Bucky's shoes were probably just forgotten in his haste and it didn't matter. They had not a month left to spend together and Steve didn't care about his shoes, he cared about the owner of the shoes. _Stop thinking about his fucking shoes. Say something!_

"I can't-" Steve's voice came out hoarse as he tried to shove the words out. His heart was beating fast and he could feel Bucky tense up next to him, his feet stopping their pattern and laying flat on the step. "Shit." He breathed out the word like a secret.

Bucky made a noise in his throat before clearing it, resting his elbow on his knee. "My pa brought it home. He was at the post office when mail came in from the city." He paused and took a shaking breath, still not looking at Steve. "It was open and he wouldn't let me see it," He continued. "I was out front with Becca and he ran into the house. I heard my mama cry out for me and I got in as quick as I could but she was already in tears..." His voice got softer as the flowed out almost automatically.

Steve could see it. Becca and Bucky on the lawn, probably arguing about how he was cutting the grass, but smiles on their faces nonetheless. Their father running up, letter in hand. The _"James!_ " that his beloved Winifred let out. It pained him to think about Bucky's family, who loved their only son like he'd never seen a family love.

"She just-" Another breath, and Steve looked at him. He hadn't expected his heart to shatter into as many pieces as it did. Bucky's eyes were filling with tears, and his cheeks were flushed. His hair a little sweaty in the sun -and stress, and fear- and face looking tired, but Steve knew the flush wasn't from the heat. "My dad didn't say anything." Steve braved himself for the usual angered muttering that tended to follow any mention of Bucky's father. How he was an asshole or a idiot or how his latest blowout had resulted in another black eye. But no, just silence.

"He was probably just as shocked as you were." Steve tried.

"No, no, that's the thing." Bucky said quickly, but still quiet. "He was mad at me for not wanting to enlist, but I think he didn't realize how much more it would hurt if I did." And that... yeah. That wasn't an angle Steve had thought of before.

Bucky's father, George, was a tough man. Someone who worked all his life and was a patriot through and through. He remembered the first time Bucky came over with a black eye, and every time since, telling another story about how he fought off some guys being rude to his sisters, or a man twice his size that mouthed off about his mom. Steve knew every "some guy" was his dad, but he never said anything. George always wanted his son to be like him, and Bucky not enlisting made him disappointed beyond belief. _The war needs men like you, James! What are you? A fucking fairy?!_

Steve never really liked Bucky's dad, but he always treated him with respect and would never utter a bad word about him to anyone.

It took a moment for Bucky's words to sink in. If he'd volunteered himself for the war, where would that leave his sisters, his mom, his Stevie? People who relied on him. George, even, losing his son because he chose to leave, not because he wasn't given a choice.

Selfishly, Steve thought about how it would feel if Bucky had volunteered himself. After he spat on the war, and said Steve was crazy for wanting to join. How all Bucky would say on the matter was that he wouldn't _Risk his life for the sake of United States humility_ all the while Steve was sick, dying of illness and dying to join.

But Bucky was too stubborn to enlist. Steve knew that was the truth. He was too hard headed to let any man order him around, treat him like an animal and send him to his death. He was too prideful to let anyone tear him down like he knew they did in the military, but no one held it against him.

A deep ache began to set itself in Steve's heart. Thinking about Bucky being forced to submit to the American Military Machine. Not even a man anymore, just a serial number with a gun.

Steve let his eyes wander back to Bucky's face again. His eyes were already changing. Just yesterday they had been inside, giddy as the teens they once were, fondly holding each other like nothing could hurt them. And today, Bucky was going to war.

"Fuck, Stevie, I don't know what I'm gonna do." Bucky huffed out, a light tear tracking its way down his cheek before it was harshly scrubbed away by the back of his hand. He turned to Steve and sniffled. "I- I can't go. I can't do it."

Steve wished they were inside already. So he could wrap Bucky in his arms and hold him tightly, kiss away his fear. He tried to find the words that would make them both feel better. _You can, Buck. I know you can._ But the thought of 'you can' turned into 'you have to'. Not only was it a legal obligation, but a moral one. To flee the country and never come back meant leaving your family and life behind. The men drafted were often providers back home, not enlisting so they can stay and be with their families as long as they can.

The sun beating down on them was almost too much for Steve. He could feel himself begin to sweat, but he wasn't sure if it was the heat or the news he'd just gotten. No matter which was causing it, he couldn't control it. He couldn't control the heat, while obvious, still frustrating. And even then, the most important part of the afternoon, he couldn't control the war, and he couldn't control who went.

Bucky was going to war. And Steve was going to wait.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! endgame got me thinking about pre-war stevebucky and what their relationship was like before everything went to shit. this came from that and uh, y eah i’m hurting
> 
> come yell at me on twitter @royaIseb (my @ looks so ugly on here and i’m sorry)


End file.
